The Clay Horse
by Lossenrhos
Summary: Arthur Weasley takes part in an archaological dig. Murderous malfoys, ancient artifacts and cynical archaeologists abound.


A/N: Written for **Mullvaney** as a secret Santa present.

Every year Heather wondered why she put herself through this. Most normal people spent there holidays doing something relaxing… they went on holiday somewhere exotic, or lounged on the beach or even just lazed in front of the TV for a couple of weeks drinking beer. But not Heather. In a fit of what could only be described as madness she had signed up for one month, (the only month of the year she wouldn't either be studying for her archaeology degree in Dublin or else working to fund it) working as an unpaid supervisor on a dig run by the University of Tadingly, exvacating what the site director had, rather optimistically in Heather's view, decided was as a 'Anglo Saxon settlement'. So far the only signs of any such settlement where a couple of unpromising looking dents in the earth that may or may not once have been post holes and a pig's jaw bone. Bloody archaeology. There were times when Heather privately echoed the words her parent's words _why can't you find yourself a normal subject to study? One with actual job prospects? _

"Excuse me? Miss Mullvaney?"

Heather gritted her teeth, and forced herself to turn around and smile. A tall rather lanky man with balding red hair, wearing who Heather vaguely remembered as one of the newest volunteers stood before her, eyes bright with an eagerness that made Heather's heart sink.

"Yes?" she said.

"I'm terribly sorry Miss, but I'm afraid I don't have a – a what you m' call it. A trowel."

Heather looked at him disbelievingly. Who came to a dig and forgot to bring a trowel along?

"Here." she said, digging into her rucksack. "You can have one of mine. I brought a spare."

"Thank you very much." The man took the trowel from her, handling it as if it were some kind of precious artefact. He held it up to his eyes.

"And this is a real trowel! That you dig with. Fascinating!"

"Um," said Heather. She was beginning to be aware of how oddly the man was dressed. He was wearing a skin tight tank top that looked uncomfortably like it was meant to be the top of a woman's swimming costume, and loose flowery shorts held up with a thick belt and jelly shoes… And he was still examining the trowel with a truly indecent degree of enthusiasm.

"Of course, I've seen trowels before, all the time, but not one that was... You know… so completely…well." he coughed slightly as if recollecting himself.

"What's your name?" Heather asked, deciding that getting straight to buisness might minimise the weirdness of the man.

"Oh, sorry - I'm Arthur. Arthur Weasley." He held his hand out to shake.

Heather took it warily. "And is this your first time on a dig?" she asked .

"Yes… yes, first time."

Brilliant, thought Heather. She didn't know they allowed first timers on this dig… the last thing she wanted right now was to spend her day babysitting a grown man in a speedo. Still, she thought, as she watched Arthur twirl the trowel experimentally in his fingers and immediately drop it, it looked like that was exactly what she was going to have to do.

It took a surprising amount of time for the man to master the use of a trowel. It took her almost half an hour to persuade him to dig with the edge of the trowel rather than the point and when he did finally master the art of holding the trowel by the handle _and_ scraping sideways he raised such a dust that Heather thought she would choke.

"I think I've got it!" he said excitedly.

"Great!" Heather coughed through a mouthful of soil. "Er - try doing it a _little_ more gently... that's it."

When at last Heather managed to escape she headed straight for the water tanks. Had she been in a better mood she might have found Mr Weasley's blend of feverish enthusiasm and utter incompetence amusing, but not today. She was tired and hot and _bored._

"Excuse me," A voice sounded close to her ear, making her jump. A boy of about seventeen years of age stood behind her, long blond hair falling into his eyes. "Excuse me, I think I've found something."

If Heather could have a penny piece for every time someone told her this she could give up her Saturday job. Usually it was enthusiasts like Arthur who had uncovered a lump of old plastic or an interesting shaped clod of mud and had somehow deluded themselves that it was historic.

"Yeah?" Heather tried to sound polite and discouraging at the same time.

"Yes. Do you think you could come and look? I need someone to explain to me what it is." The boy looked at the space over her right shoulder as he spoke rather than at her, his face stiff and expressionless.

"Well all right, then." Heather sighed. "Show me the way."

"It's over here." He led her past the rope which fenced in the main trenches. "Just up the hill a bit."

Heather frowned. She hadn't known anyone was working so far from the main site. Why had she not been informed?

"Did Angus tell you to dig here?" she asked, as she scrambled up the slope after the boy. Angus was the site director, a surly irritable man who spent most of his time inside his caravan doing 'paperwork'.

The boy didn't turn. "Not exactly."

Heather stopped in her tracks. "Not exactly? Do you have permission to be digging up here?"

The boy looked at her coldly over his shoulder "No. I'm not a member of your, uh, expedition," he spoke the word with contempt. " It's just I happen to have found something and I want your opinion."

"What?." Heather said disbelievingly. "Listen, if you don't have permission to dig up there, if you aren't insured… it's not allowed."

The boy gave a derisive snort. "Do I look like I care?"

"This isn't on." Heather said firmly. "I'm going to tell the site director. He won't be pleased." She turned back

"Stop!" called the boy from behind her. "You need to come and see what I've found. Stop!"

Heather ignored him. All of a sudden there was a sudden rush of light and a noise like wind rushing through leaves, and Heather tripped landing on her back on the hill. What had just happened? Where was she? She looked around confusedly for a moment at the dusty yellowed grass of the hill, the wide sky, the site spread out below her, the backs of the diggers in brightly coloured t-shirts visible through the dust that rose in regular puffs from their trowels.

"Get up." The boy with the cold voice said from behind her. Heather got up, slowly, dusting the dirt from her trousers.

"Now come with me. You have to come and look at what I've found."

Heather felt herself filled with an inexplicable sense of gratitude. The boy was going to show her something he had found. Perhaps it would be an important find! How nice it would be to tell everyone that she had had a part in that!

"Over here," the boy said, shortly.

They had reached a levelling off in the hillside, where a hole had been dug beneath the roots of a tree. It didn't look like any sort of trench Heather had ever seen – the earth seemed not to have been dug out so much as blasted away in clumps, the fine sandy soil scattered all around the hole as if a rabbit kicking the dirt behind it as it dug, rather than a trained archaeologist.

"It's just there." The boy said. "I didn't want to fully dig it out. I was afraid I might damage it."

Very likely, considering you digging methods Heather thought grimly, but she said nothing merely leaning over to peer in to the trench. A small rounded object poked up out of the soil. Taking out her trowel she began to ease it up out of the soil. The boy lent closer to her. He appeared to be holding his breath.

The object she held in her hand appeared to be a pebble – too perfectly round to be something naturally formed, Heather noticed, and the surface underneath the mud was smooth and black, probably basalt.

"We need to get this washed." Heather said. The boy snatched it from her hands it from her hands, and muttered something. There was a rush of water from between his fingers, spattering the ground and he handed the stone back clean. Heather stared.

"How did you-?"

"What do you see?" the boy interrupted. "On the stone. What is that?"

Heather looked down. Now it was cleaned she could make it out: a fine delicately drawn carving scratched in white on the surface of the pebble.

"It- It's a horse." She said, in amazement. "A black horse, with a star on its forehead. Why, it- it's beautiful."

The boy didn't seem to be listening. "A horse." He said. "What does that mean? A horse."

"This isn't Anglo Saxon." Heather said, examining it closely. "The style is so different. It almost looks like-"

"Like what?" The boy snapped, turning to look at her. "Like what, Muggle?"

Heather had no idea what he had just said but it sounded like an insult. She pursed up her mouth "I think we should take this down to show the others." She said coolly.

"Oh no you don't." The boy grasped her arm roughly. "You aren't going anywhere until you tell me everything you know about this stone!" his tone rose excitedly.

"Let me go!" Heather wrenched herself away.

"Get back here!" the boy stamped his foot, scuffing earth back into the hole. Heather wanted to scream at him. Such an important find and the boy was ruining the context.

The boy had pulled out his stick again and was pointing it at her head. Heather had an uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability as through it were a gun pointing at her rather than just a twig.

"Put that thing down." she said. Her voice quavered oddly.

"I'll kill you." The boy said, his pale cheeks flushed. "I can do it. I've d-done it before, you know. Killed a man."

Heather gulped. It wasn't that she believed the boy's claim but being run through the eye by a madman with stick was not a remotely pleasant prospect.

"OK." She said. "I'll tell you what I know. But I don't know much."

"Go on." The boy lowered his stick.

Heather took a deep breath. "I'm not sure, it'll have to be dated but it looks Magdalenian – the style, the shaped stone – it's fairly typical of that era, although it's rare to find such specimens in Britain. It could be a forgery."

"It isn't a forgery." The boy's face twisted scornfully. "Do you think I'd be wasting my time if it was?"

Heather bit back a retort.

"Magdalenian." The boy said thoughtfully. "When was that?"

"About ten thousand years ago. In the Upper Palaeolithic." The boy still looked blank so she rolled her eyes. "In the last ice age. Cave man time."

"I know what the Palaeolithic was." The boy spat at her. He ran a hand anxiously through his hair. "A horse, though. What does that mean?"

"Well." Heather said. "Engravings of animals on stone are quite common from that period."

"But why a horse?"

"I don't know." Heather said irritably. "Horses are quite common subject matter for Palaeolithic art. Horses and bison. There are all types of theories about it."

"What sort of theories?"

"Oh, I don't know." Heather said. "It isn't really my area. Some people say that horses represent masculinity and bisons are feminine or some such… you know the ying and the yang type theories. Some people think that the drawings were used in some kind of magical ritual to bring people luck in hunting and since horses and bison were difficult things to hunt they needed extra help with it."

The boy's eyes gleamed. "Hunting magic." He said.

"Well, yes, I suppose so." said Heather uneasily.

"Do you think it would still work?" the boy asked.

"Do you think what would work?"

"The magic. If you wanted to hunt something, do you think it would still work?"

"I – maybe." said Heather, cautiously. Clearly the boy was madder than she'd thought if he was trying endeavouring to perform Palaeolithic hunting rituals. She tried to speak clearly and calmly, in the kind of voice she supposed you should use when talking to lunatics. "Listen, why don't you give me that stone and we can go back to the site and ask someone about it?"

The boy looked at her blankly for a moment and then through back his head and laughed. "I don't think so, Muggle!" he said. "My master is going to want this. And you have outlived your usefulness." He raised his stick again pointing it directly at her heart.

Heather took a step back, almost tripping over a tree root. "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting rid of you." The boy said shrilly. "A- Avada… Avada K-" he stopped, his eyes darting desperately at the ground, at the tree behind her, anywhere but her face. "I can do it, you know. I will do it! Avada Ked-"

"_Expelliarmus!_" A cry rang out from behind them both, making Heather start nearly out of her skin. The stick jumped out of the boy's fingers, flying across to where a man stood upon the hilltop, surveying the scene grimly.

"A- Arthur?" Heather said weakly. Sure, enough it was her trainee archaeologist, resplendent in his half swimming costume and flowered shorts.

"Miss Mullvaney, are you all right?"

"Yes," said Heather, shakily. "But what-"

"Don't you move!" Arthur barked sharply pointing a stick at the boy, who had been backing slowly away.

"Don't you dare come near me, Weasley!" The boy yelled, white faced.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Arthur spoke calmly, but his eyes blazed in a face that was stiff with anger. Heather shivered. It was frightening to see such cold hatred on the face of a man who had hitherto appeared so gentle and kindly.

"Nothing." The boy said, and then leered at Heather. "Just having a little fun."

"Muggle baiting," Arthur said heavily "is a serious enough crime, Draco, but somehow I doubt that's the only reason you're here."

"What would you know?" the boy said angrily.

"I know you've been looking for something here, something you think will bring you back into the Dark Lord's favour, and I also happen to know that you need a Muggle's help to find it. Is that right?"

"No. I don't know what you're talking about." The boy called Draco protested.

"Then what's that in your hand? _Accio stone_." The man said. The artefact sailed into the air, zooming across to where Arthur caught it, one handed.

"No!" The boy's fingers scrabbled for a moment at empty air. "Give that back!" The boy threw himself forward. Taken by surprise, Arthur raised the sticks a moment too late and the boy was already upon him, grappling with him on the edge of the hill, trying to wrench the stone out of his grasp. Arthur his hands full teetered for a moment and then fell backwards, Malfoy on top of him, into the gaping trench. There was a loud cracking sound and both of them disappeared from sight.

Heather screamed, rushing forward. What had appeared to be solid ground had broken away, and a long dark drop stood in it's place.

"Arthur?" she called into the tunnel. Her voice echoed strangely. "Arthur, are you all right?"

There was an indistinct noise from the bottom of the tunnel. Carefully Heather shuffled forwards to the edge of the hole and looked down. Arthur lay at the bottom of what appeared to be a cavern, one arm twisted beneath him. "Help." He whispered.

Heather hesitated. "I'll go and get someone."

"No… time." Arthur forced out. "Malfoy has the stone… if we don't stop him… you don't understand."

"I can't get down." Heather said.

"There's rope… in my bag."

Heather noticed a rucksack, lying by the tree. She rushed over to it, pulling out a long coil of rope. Tying one end to the tree, and the other round her waist, she carefully lowered herself down into the cavern.

"Sorry," she said as she brushed past the entrance hole, scattering dirt into Arthur's face.

"That's all right." Arthur smiled weakly.

"Are you OK?" She knelt beside him. "You're bleeding!" A trickle of blood ran down from his forehead into his eyes.

"I can't reach my wand. Could you give it to me?"

"You mean this thing?" Heather picked up the stick which lay on the ground beside him. "Here."  
Arthur clenched his hand around the stick "Lumos." He whispered. The stick burst into light illuminating the cavern around them.

Heather gasped. "How did you – are you?"

"A wizard." The old man gasped out. "Both of us are – me and the boy. Will you help me up?"

"I'm not sure you should-" Heather began but he was already stumbling to his feet.

"Here," she helped him up and he clapped an arm round her leaning heavily on her shoulder.

"He went that way," Mr Weasley pointed ahead into the darkness. "Could you take my wand?"

"Sure." Heather took the lighted twig in her free hand. "But I think we should be getting you to a doctor, not chasing wizards."

"That wizard is a murderer." Arthur said grimly. "And if we don't stop him he'll be given the opportunity to murder several more people - one of whom happens to be my youngest son."

Heather could think of nothing to say to this, so she gripped the man's elbow a little tighter and helped him walk forward. "Why does he want this stone then?" she asked quietly and then something clicked in her head. "Oh – hunting magic!"

"Yes," said Arthur quietly. "I should explain. I suppose you know the history of the thing– about 40,000 years ago, things changed a lot for humankind. They began creating new, more sophisticated tools, living in larger societies, creating art and music."

"In the Upper Palaeolithic," said Heather. "The symbolic explosion. I know – I've studied it."

"There was a reason for that." Arthur said quietly. "One the Muggle scholars aren't aware of. It was at that time that the first wizards – humans with magical powers – were born."

"Oh!" said Heather. "Oh, that makes sense!"

"At first wizards and humans worked together – they had to. They needed each other. And the Hunting Magic was a kind of magic they created. It cannot be performed without input from both Muggles and wizards."

"What do you mean?"

"That stone Malfoy had. What did it look like to you?"

"I- well, it was flat and black and it was carved with a picture."

Arthur looked at her sharply, wincing as he turned his head. "What kind of a picture?"

"A- a horse, I think. Yes, a horse."

The man was silent for a moment, as if digesting this.

"Why?" Heather asked.

"The stones are enchanted." Arthur said briefly. "Only a Muggle may remove them from the soil, and only a Muggle can make sense of the patterns engraved upon them. If I were to look at one of those stones I would just see a tangle of lines."

Heather frowned. "So… that was why he made me come up here? To tell him what was on that stone? But it didn't exactly help him much. He had no idea what the horse meant."

"He does now." Arthur said grimly. He pointed ahead of them. Heather raised the wand so that the light flooded the cavern ahead of them and then gasped. Before them stood a solid stone wall completely barring their path, and on it seeming to be carved an arch, decorated with handprints and odd swirling patterns. On one side of the archway stood what appeared to be a life sized horse, a white star carved upon its forehead, it's mane flying in the wind.

"It's made of clay." said Heather, touching it reverently. The material still felt moist and soft beneath her fingers.

"But," she said looking around confusedly. "But where did the boy go? He can't have crossed that chasm it's too deep."

"There is a way." Arthur said quietly. He pointed to the wall opposite where the statue of the horse stood. "There used to be two horses."

Heather gasped. There under the wand light she saw a silhouette, black against the grey wall. It was shaped like a horse in full gallop.

"You don't mean… they can't possibly… I mean, they're not real horses, just carved from stone, they-"

Arthur was leaning over the first horse, muttering something in a strange language. Suddenly one of the horse's ears flicked. Heather screamed.

"It's all right." said Arthur. "Just a simple transfiguration spell, really. Come on."

"What are you doing?" Heather asked. Arthur was scrabbling with his one good arm at the horses' back, his leg kicking in the air. "Help me onto it."

"You're mad." Heather protested, but she did as he said, cupping her hands and giving him a leg up onto the horses' back. He gave a gasp of pain as he settled down.

Heather shivered as the cold stone back of the horse moved beneath her touch.  
"What is this?" she asked.

"It's magic," Arthur said, gently. "Stone horses for travelling through a stone wall."

"You're going to try and ride through that archway? You'll be killed!"

Arthur smiled. "I'll be fine."

"But you're injured. You're in no state to be riding." She paused for a moment, winding her fingers into the horses' mane. It was surprising soft. The horse snorted.

Heather made up her mind. "I'm coming with you."

"You can't – "

"Watch me." Heather pulled herself up onto the horses' back in front of him. The horse shifted slightly under her weight, but didn't complain. Heather dug her heels into the horses' side. "Giddyup." she said.

Immediately the horse began to move. With a toss of it's head and a whinny which echoed erriely through the cavern it charged forwards straight at the wall in front of them. Heather barely had time to blink let alone be afraid before the wall parted before them and they were galloping down along dark corridor of stone. Behind her Arthur made a gasping noise and tightened his arms around her waist.

"Have you ever ridden a horse before?" Heather shouted over the clattering of the hoofs.

"No," Arthur admitted, sheepishly.

Heather grinned. "Good thing you have me here, then. I won the pony jumping at Banting Fair when I was eight. I'd forgotten how good it felt to ride."

"Umm… yes." Arthur said weakly. Glancing behind her Heather saw he was looking rather green.

As they galloped deeper and deeper into the cave Heather began to hear what she at first thought was an echo of their horse's hoofs but as it grew louder and her horse picked up speed, she saw the flick of another horses' tail ahead, and the blonde head of the wizard who had threatened her. "We're gaining on him!" she hissed, and patted her horses side, urging it onwards.

Malfoy looked back, his face whitening as he saw them behind him. "Come on." He screamed at his horse, kicking it in the sides. The horse increased his pace, disappearing into the darkness.

Heather lent forwards urging her horse to go faster again.

"Heather," Arthur said faintly in her ear. "We have to get there before him. If he reaches the artefact first… Harry Potter… my son…"

"Come on, horsie," Heather breathed into the animal's ear. "Just a bit faster. You can do it!"

All of a sudden the horse cantered to a stop. Heather held up the torch, peering into the gloom. Just ahead of her Malfoy had also stopped, facing a solid stone wall once more. He was running his fingers over it, frowning. Suddenly he stopped. Holding up his own wand, also lit, he bent forward to examine one of the drawings. A red coloured drawing of a horse in gallop. Digging in his pocket he brought out the stone from the entrance and pressed it against the painted horse. The wall before him shuddered, and then dissolved.

"Quick!" Heather hissed, urging her horse forward, as Malfoy galloped through the arch. Already the wall seemed to be reforming, growing inch by stone inch from the bottom upwards. "Jump!" Heather cried, throwing herself forward on the horses back. Amazingly the horse obeyed her command, sailing through the narrowing gap in the wall and landing with a clatter on the other side.

A long cavern stood before them, illuminated with a faint eerie glow of light.

There were pictures on the walls, thousands of them, flickering in the unsteady light… bison with spears in there sides, their tongues hanging out from pain, horses stumbling in a trap, lions cornered in a trap…

"Hunting magic." She breathed.

There was a sudden harsh laugh. "Hunting magic." The voice said, rising triumphantly. "Why, Muggle I do believe you are absolutely right."

Malfoy, still on horse back was in the very centre of the chamber, beside a great stone boulder. "Look at this, Weasley. Look at what it is we've come all this way to find." He picked something up off the boulder. It looked like a stick.

"Charcoal, Weasley. Just an ordinary piece of charcoal. All I have to do is pick this up, and draw a picture on the wall! That's what it is, this ancient hunting magic! How mind numbingly simple! Well, I might have known it would be, if there were Muggles involved."

"Put that down, Malfoy." Arthur spoke, hoarsely. "Put down that pencil and I won't hurt you."  
The boy's horse pawed at the ground as his master leaned forward. The greenish light catching his face.

"I don't think so Weasley. Not now I have the power to do everything I want."

Arthur leaned forwards snatching the wand from Heather's fingers.

"_Stupefy_!" he cried, pointing the wand at Malfoy.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Malfoy screamed at the same time. There was a sudden burning flash of light and Arthur's wand was snatched out of his grasp and flew across the cavern into the boy's hands.

The boy laughed. "Too slow, old man." He shifted on his horses back moving over to once of the walls. "Now." He said. "Watch me draw your son out of existence." He raised his charcoal. "Lets see." He said, beginning to draw. "How shall the Weasel King die? Shall I have him shot full of arrows or falling over a cliff? Maybe he could suffocate in Granger's hair… that ought to do it."

"Stop!" Arthur cried, and Heather urged the horse forward, charging straight for Malfoy. With a lazy flick of his wand Malfoy muttered a spell _"Impedimenta!"_

Suddenly the horse seemed to run into something solid. With a terribly scream its legs shattered, smashing into a thousand fragments of clay. Heather pushed Arthur and herself off the horses back, rolling clear just in time as shards of broken clay exploded from the body of the horse.

There was an echoing silence. Heather lay still feeling the shock course through her body. The horse had broken to pieces beneath her, her numb brain kept telling herself. How could that have happened?

Footsteps rang through the silence of the chamber. Heather squeezed her eye shut.

"Poor Weasley." Malfoy sneered from overhead. "You never learn, do you? You should have known you weren't wizard enough to take on a Malfoy."

"You aren't a Malfoy." Arthur spat through the blood poured down his face. "You aren't a wizard anymore either. You're nothing but You Know Who's slave."  
A look of anger flashed across the boy's face. He forced out a laugh. "What would you know, Weasley? You're just a blood traitor. Out of interest... how did you find out about all this? How did you know where to find me?"

"I found out the same way you did," Arthur coughed. "From an ex-employee at the Department of Mysteries. As soon as I heard about it I suspected one of your lot would try and get hold of it, I knew you were searching for Harry."

"Most of them don't now anything about it." the boy boasted. "Only I heard Rookwood talking about it one night when he was drunk... he didn't think there was any such thing s hunting magic but I thought I'd follow it up."

"You mean you were desperately seeking a way back into You Know Who's favour. I heard he wasn't too pleased with you..."

"Shut up!" the boy screamed. He pointed the wand at Arthur. "I'll kill you!"

Arthur shrugged. "Go on then. There's no one to stop you, is there?"

The boy raised his wand, but his hand shook. "A-" He cleared his throat. "Avada –" he closed his eyes and then opened them again. Heather could see the sweat standing out upon his brow.

"It isn't easy, is it?" said Arthur softly. "Killing?"

The boy made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a strangled sob, but then changed into a agonised gurgling laugh.

"But- but it is!" the boy spluttered, at last. "It _is _easy. It's so easy." He walked over to the cave wall. "I don't have to kill you like that, with my own wand, face to face. I don't have to curse you. I don't even have to look at you." He picked up the charcoal and held it to the wall. "All I have to do is draw you."

"No!" Arthur whispered.

"No!" echoed Heather, pulling herself up into a sitting position.

Malfoy turned to glance over his shoulder at her, his lip curling sardonically. "What are you going to do about it, Muggle?" he asked.

Heather groped with her hands at the floor beneath her, hoping wildly to find something that would save them. Her hand closed around a smooth wooden handle. She looked down. It was her trowel. In their tumble from the horses back it had fallen out of Arthur's pocket and landed beside her.

Malfoy was laughing. "Pathetic." he said. "Why, you're hardly worth drawing." He turned back to the wall, sweeping the charcoal accross it in a thick black line. "It's beginning." he told Arthur. "Can you feel your doom approaching?"

Slowly, unsteadily, Heather got to her feet. She heard Arthur gasp behind her. Carefully she took aim at the back of the boy's head, and threw the trowel with all her might. There was a dull thudding sound as the trowel met its mark, and the boy slowly fell to his knees, and then collapsed on his side.

There was a long silence.

"Is he dead?" Arthur asked. His face was unreadable. Heather warily tiptoed to where the boy lay.

"He's breathing." she whispered. There was blood trickling down from one of his temples. "He doesn't look too good, though. We should probably get him to a hospital. You too."

Arthur stumbled to his feet. "Will-," he winced, clearly in pain. "Will the one horse be able to carry all three of us, do you think?"

Heather shook her head. "Shouldn't think so. I'll walk beside you."

Heather hauled the boy to his feet and managing, after a struggle, to drape him over his horses' back. She bent down to pick up her trowel, the point of which was streaked with blood.

"What are you smiling at?" Arthur asked, as she helped him up onto the horse.

"I was thinking of something a supervisor told me, on the first dig I was ever on. He said good archaeologist always knows where her trowel is."

"Well, I'm glad you followed her advice." Arthur looked at her seriously. "You saved my life. My son's too. Thank you."

"Well," said Heather embarrassed. "You saved my life too."

Arthur smiled, looking embarrassed too. "It was nothing." Suddenly he grinned.

"Now, what are _you_ smiling at." Heather asked.

"I was just imagining the look on Lucius Malfoy's face when he realises his only son has been captured... by a muggle."

"A muggle archaeologist, no less." said Heather. "Indiana Jones, move on over."

"Indiana...?"

"Never mind." said Heather smiling. "Let's go."

She patted the clay horses' flank and the four of them set off, down the long dark tunnels of the cave, into the light.


End file.
